Lucci nodded lightly at the scene. After offering Heimdall a few words of encouragement, he returned to the palace.
To him, spending time on Heimdall was like a mathematician deriving a new formula and using it to solve a problem that had plagued engineers for years—an application experiment of a law he had already comprehended.
Nothing more.
He returned to the roots of Yggdrasil and continued immersing himself in research on time's mysteries.
Time flowed quietly around him.
And his understanding of time expanded deeper and wider, like small streams pouring into the sea.
He was no longer merely observing—he began trying to accelerate and slow time within specific spaces.
He could evaporate a glass of water on a table in an instant.
He could also make a fallen leaf hover in the air for minutes, as if it were frozen in amber.
This sense of manipulating time elevated his understanding of power to a new dimension.
At the same time, his body underwent earth-shaking changes.
The "Nine Realms Cyclic Breathing Method" he created operated continuously, automatically.
Vast cosmic energy rising from every corner of the Nine Realms was drawn in like it was being swallowed by an invisible black hole, forming visible tides of energy that poured into his body like a hundred rivers returning to the sea.
Part of that energy—filtered and purified by the breathing technique—became accumulated divine power.
The other part was ignited by the "Origin True Fire Marvelous Art" within him, transforming into the purest life energy like the legendary divine flame of the gods' furnace, burning and tempering his flesh, bones, and meridians day and night.
Under such terrifying nourishment and forging, Lucci's body grew rapidly—at a speed visible to the naked eye.
His appearance changed from a child of about six or seven into a tall, sharp-featured young man.
Long black hair fell casually over his shoulders. His eyes were deep like a sea of stars. Every movement carried an inborn aloofness and nobility.
Beneath luxurious clothing hid a terrifying "humanoid beast."
Every strand of muscle contained explosive power enough to tear stars apart.
His bones were tougher than the hardest Uru.
In his blood flowed the true flames and energies of the Nine Realms—each heartbeat pulsing like a star core, brimming with endless vitality and strength.
He hadn't even intentionally trained his body, yet his physical power had already reached a level that made battle-hardened Asgardian warriors feel despair.
During this time, Odin personally sent several top combat instructors to "teach" Lucci fighting skills, hoping he would not focus solely on laws and ignore combat instincts.
But the result of this instruction dealt the proud, experienced instructors the heaviest blow of their lives—so heavy they began to doubt their existence.
The first instructor was Asgard's famed swordsman, whose blade struck like lightning.
He swung with all his strength, splitting a mountain peak—and slashed Lucci's body.
Yet it only left a shallow white mark. It did not even cut the skin. The swordsman's wrist went numb.
He froze in place and muttered, "My sword… is it fake?"
The second instructor was a master of fist combat, capable of shattering the earth.
He poured all his strength into a punch at Lucci's chest.
Lucci neither dodged nor blocked—he let him hit.
The instructor's fist struck as though it had hit an invisible antimatter planet. All force rebounded instantly.
His arm bent unnaturally on the spot. Bones shattered into fragments. He screamed as he flew back.
Worst was the third instructor, who had once fought barehanded with pure strength.
He refused to believe it and demanded a contest of sheer power—arm wrestling.
Under the harsh gaze of countless soldiers, the instructor's face turned red, veins bulged, and he exhausted every ounce of strength… yet he could not move Lucci's wrist at all.
From beginning to end, Lucci remained calm—still distractedly reading.
After a few seconds, Lucci moved his wrist slightly, bored.
Crack—
A bone-crushing sound rang out. The power instructor's entire arm—from wrist to shoulder—was dislocated by an irresistible force and went limp.
From then on, no instructor dared to "teach" Lucci again.
When they reported back to Odin, they all wore bitter smiles. One instructor summarized their feelings in a trembling voice:
"Your Majesty… we feel like we're tickling an ancient dragon wearing human skin…"
That metaphor spread quickly through Asgard's upper circles.
Lucci gained a new, awe-filled label in everyone's mind:
A monster whose age and appearance did not match.
To test the limits of his body without using laws or energy, Lucci stepped into one of Asgard's most famous venues—the Central Gladiator Arena.
Here, Asgardian warriors sweated, proved their courage, and honed their skills. On ordinary days it was filled with earth-shaking roars and the clash of weapons.
When Lucci's slender figure appeared at the center of the arena, countless eyes turned to him.
Thousands of warriors watched—some training, some observing—staring at the mysterious Fourth Prince.
Rumors about him had long circulated.
Some said he was unimaginably wise, reading thousands of volumes in a single night.
Some said his talent was monstrous, his divine techniques moving even the All-Father.
Some even claimed Heimdall had knelt before him.
But rumors were rumors. Few had seen him fight with their own eyes.
"I need an opponent," Lucci said calmly, his voice carrying clearly to every ear.
The stands erupted.
"My gods! The Fourth Prince is here personally?"
"I heard his comprehension is extraordinary and even shocked the All-Father—but this is an arena. It's skill and strength here. Is he also good at this?"
"Watch!"
"It's rare to see the Fourth Prince move. This time we'll finally know!"
"But who will he challenge?"
Soon, a gladiator champion as tall as an iron tower strode in—bare-chested, scarred, holding a huge axe—amid thunderous cheers.
He looked at Lucci's lean frame. A trace of dissatisfaction flashed in his eyes, but he still bowed politely.
Then the battle result choked every cheer in their throats.
Facing the massive axe cleaving down with mountain-splitting force, Lucci simply raised two fingers—
And lightly pinched the blade.
Then he flicked.
With a clear ding, the indestructible pure-gold giant axe snapped in response.
Next, Lucci threw a casual punch.
There was no energy fluctuation in that punch.
Yet the burly gladiator seemed struck by a rampaging kraken. His body instantly curled like a shrimp, eyes wide, flying backward and smashing through the arena wall—knocked unconscious.
One punch.
Only one.
The entire arena fell dead silent.
Thousands of warriors stared blankly, as if they had foreseen a myth descending.
How… was this even possible?
That was the reigning champion!
After that, more powerful warriors stepped forward, unwilling to believe it—without exception, Lucci dropped them with a single hit.
No opponent could block his seemingly casual punch.
In the stands, Lady Sif—Asgard's famed heroine—watched the scene, her beautiful eyes shining. She gripped her sword and shield, battle intent surging within her.
Just as she prepared to go down and test this mysterious prince herself, a familiar laugh came from the arena entrance.
"Hah! Lively! Let me join the fun!"
Thor strode in proudly with the Warriors Three, returning in triumph from Jotunheim.
Sif stopped silently. With Thor and the Warriors Three present, she knew it was not her turn.
But to her surprise, after seeing Lucci and the fallen gladiators, Thor's face did not show battle intent.
It showed shock… and reverence.
"Big brother! You're that strong physically? Amazing!" Thor shouted excitedly, sounding like an enthusiastic fan watching an idol reveal a new skill.
…
PS: Bonus chapter at 100 Power Stones